Does it hurt?
by flying cat
Summary: HouseCuddy history fic. Set four months post infarction, four days post Stacy. I'm struggling to summarize this in one sentence, so I won't. Rated M for drug use, language and SMUT. Chapter four.
1. Chapter 1

The head nurse heard him before she saw him, swearing at an orderly, abusing another patient; growling at people to get out of his way. He moved awkwardly with no grace, weight braced across crutches, dragging his right leg as he painstakingly shifted himself forward, the strain evident on his face with every movement. Sweat beading on his forehead he propped a crutch against the nurses' station and began thumping the counter impatiently.

"Hey! Hey!" He thumped the counter again, attracting the attention of the attending nurse. "I need to see Doctor Cuddy."

"Doctor Cuddy doesn't see clinic patients on Tuesday." The attending nurse replied, retreating.

"Tough shit." The man snarled. "Tell her I'll be in that room there." He pointed at the exam room two doors to the right of the nurses' station. The nurse regarded him with thinly disguised fear, his hair stood on end, complimented by the week or more of thick stubble that peppered his cheeks and wild, piercing blue eyes that bore into her with barely concealed anger. The head nurse arrived at the attending nurse's side, grabbing her by her shoulders and steering her away.

"What can we do for you today Doctor House?" She watched him carefully.

"Tell Doctor Cuddy I'll be in that room there." The man pointed again to the room two doors to the right.

"Do you have an appointment?" The head nurse asked coolly. The man offered no reply, wedging the crutch back under his arm and dragging himself over toward the room in question. "Doctor House?" He stopped, turning to face her, the veins of his biceps straining against his skin visible below the sleeves of his t-shirt, sweat soaking though the fabric across his chest. Concern shattered the head nurse's initial hostility; she hurried over to him as he swayed slightly. His clothes hung from his lean frame, shoulders seemed too bony. The nurse reached up and pressed a palm to his forehead; he stank of whiskey and stale sweat.

"I'll get Doctor Cuddy." She intoned, suddenly serious. "Can you get to the exam room?"

"Yeah," The man steeled himself, shaking his head violently enough to cause the tip of one crutch to lose traction. He felt the floor coming up toward him and instinctively transferred weight to his right leg, howling in agony. The nurse's arms slid around his waist in the hope of keeping him upright, the entire clinic falling silent as she ushered him into the waiting exam room. He leant on her heavily, the room a blur for a few moments until he regained composure.

"Okay turning around…" The nurse shifted him clockwise on the spot in a graceless two-step. "Lifting up…" He braced both of his hands against the exam room table and hoisted himself up. "Turning…" He swang his left leg up onto the table, the nurse carefully lifted his right leg up to join it before ducking out to retrieve his crutches from where they had fallen from his grasp earlier.

House slowly leant backward, reclining on the exam table. Eyes squeezed shut his breath escaped from between his lips with a hiss, fists twisting the crisp white sheet that lined the table into a crumpled mess at his sides.

"Oh god…" The head nurse mumbled, hurrying from the room. She looked down the hall in the direction of Cuddy's office. Empty. She turned to the nurse's station, catching the attention of the attending nurse. "Page Doctor Cuddy. Tell her it's urgent." The attending nurse looked at her wide eyed and complied immediately. The head nurse returned to the exam room, hurried inside and closed the door. House stared at the ceiling, right hand gripping the edge of the exam table white knuckled.

"What are you taking for the pain?" The head nurse asked quietly.

"Vicodin." He breathed through clenched teeth.

"You've been mixing Vicodin with alcohol?"

"No I ran out of Vicodin three days ago."

The nurse's eyes widened in mild shock as the door swung open behind her.

"Greg?" Cuddy's voice cut through the air, a mixture of shock and concern flooding her features. "It's okay Lucy, you can get back to work now."

"Hey Doc." House breathed.

"God, you look terrible." Cuddy dragged the sphygmomanometer to the edge of the bench snatching the blood pressure cuff and wrapping it around his near arm. She wedged her stethoscope under it and began to inflate the cuff whilst simultaneously flicking her stethoscope into her ears. Cuddy ceased to pump, watching the meter. "It's up 140/90." She paused, sniffing the air. "You've been drinking."

"Yeah." He breathed.

"What happened?" Cuddy asked, removing her stethoscope from her ears and undoing the cuff from his arm, she screwed up her nose. "And when was the last time you showered?"

"Stacy's gone." House's head rolled on his shoulders, eyes meeting hers.

"I know." Cuddy replied quietly. She neatly folded up the cuff and placed it back on the bench. "When did she leave?"

"Four days ago." House replied through clenched teeth, eyes glassy. "When did she tell you?" His voice cracked as he spoke.

"Last Monday." Cuddy gritted her teeth, a pang of guilt shooting through her. "When did you run out of Vicodin?"

"Three days ago." House rasped, tightening his grip on the edge of the table.

"Why didn't you call me?" Cuddy hissed, voice fraught with concern. She grabbed the electronic thermometer, jamming a new disposable tip onto it before easing it into his ear.

"Stacy took your number when she went." He grunted.

"101." Cuddy sighed. "God you're a mess. Why didn't you come in sooner?"

"First day I've been sober enough to drive." House breathed heavily, eyes squeezed shut to stop the room swaying around him, leg throbbing in time to his heartbeat. "That and it's pretty fucking hard without your right leg."

"When was the last time you ate something?" Cuddy asked, arms folded across her chest.

"I don't know." He growled, fists clawing at the sheet again. "Just give me something for the damn pain!"

"Will you eat something if I do?" Cuddy inquired coolly.

"Geez, I'll eat you if you want just give me something!" House hissed at her through clenched teeth, eyes wild as he glared at her.

"Don't move." Cuddy warned, turning on her heel and heading for the door.

"Do I look like I'm going anywhere?" House growled. Cuddy didn't look back.

Cuddy was gone five minutes. It felt like a lifetime. He had taken everything he could find over the last three days in an attempt to take the edge of the pain that tore through his thigh; all he managed to scrounge up that morning were three Tylenol and a single Valium that he chased with a mouthful of bourbon. The combination merely served to make the world bend slightly and numb his mind enough in order for him to convince himself the pain was bearable. He had hardly eaten since they released him from hospital; it was as if they had somehow managed to remove his appetite along with most of his right quadriceps muscle.

He heard the exam room door open followed by the sharp click of heels on linoleum, then the sound of a china plate being placed onto Formica. House heard the telltale snap of latex gloves. He didn't open his eyes.

"Roll over." Cuddy spoke; his eyes flickered open in time to see her place an ampule of morphine on the bench before opening a draw to retrieve a hypodermic needle. House extended his right arm toward her. Cuddy paused, shooting him a sideways glance, she shouldn't even be doing this; she should be writing him another script and sending him packing. "No, roll over. Pants down."

"Please?" He shifted his right arm insistently. Cuddy looked at him, brow furrowed. "Please, Lisa?" The desperation in his tone tore at her. Cuddy closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Oh, what the hell. He was desperate, he hadn't sued; he wasn't going to tell anyone. She turned around, selecting a standard syringe from the draw and fishing out a bright green and orange tourniquet. Cuddy wrapped the strip of elastic around his arm, fastening the clip and tightening it roughly. House slowly opened and closed his fist as Cuddy retrieved the ampule of morphine from the bench. She pulled the cap off with her teeth, pushing the needle through the cap of the ampule, inverting it then drawing the morphine down into the syringe. Syringe full, she discarded the empty ampule, flicking the syringe to shift any air before depressing the plunger just enough to expel the air completely. Cuddy brandished the syringe in her right hand, simultaneously tapping the thick vein that ran down the base of his bicep and through the underside of his elbow with her left. She slid a latex covered thumb down the raised vein, pausing momentarily.

"Did you take anything this morning?" Cuddy watched him carefully.

"Three Tylenol and a Valium." House breathed, his leg throbbed. "Please, Lisa…" He groaned, desperate to the point of begging. "Please, just let me…"

Cuddy pushed the needle through his skin and into the vein, simultaneously loosening the tourniquet with her left hand. She placed a finger gently over the point at which the needle entered the vein and began to slowly depress the plunger. House sighed, shuddering as the cool liquid shifted up the length of his arm, leaving a dull ache in its path. It occurred to Cuddy at that moment that a few minutes spent warming the ampule between her palms may have been more considerate, but she hadn't anticipated how insistent he was going to be on the method of delivery, she didn't even really know why she had gone straight for the morphine instead of something lighter. The plunger ceased to move in her hand, Cuddy looked down at House's arm, holding the empty syringe in place with one hand as she reached over and snaffled a cotton ball from the jar on the bench. She pressed the cotton ball against his skin directly above the point at which the needle had entered, then swiftly extracted the needle whilst pressing firmly against the vein. House flinched slightly. She shifted the tourniquet down over the cotton ball, tightening it just enough to put sufficient pressure on the wound to stem the bleeding.

Cuddy turned her back on him, throwing the used syringe into the sharps bin and discarding her latex gloves. Behind her, House emitted a deep, throaty groan, Cuddy span around to face him.

"I think I love you." He sighed, the opium coursing through his veins slowly lifting the tension that previously gripped his body. House appeared visibly more relaxed, his breathing had slowed and Cuddy guessed his blood pressure had probably fallen back to the lower side of normal. She paused, eyes travelling the length of his body. Clad in a ripped blue t-shirt that hung loosely from his torso, a pair of well-worn jeans that seemed a little on the large side and an old pair of trainers he looked haggard.

"How much weight have you lost since the surgery?" Cuddy asked, dragging a stool over to the head of the exam table and sitting down.

"Is this including the five or so pounds of muscle you hacked out of my thigh?" House retorted, his tone lacking its usual menace.

"Be nice or I'll go and get the Narcan." Cuddy snapped at him.

"I don't know." House sighed. "Eight or nine pounds maybe? It's not like I can really stand on a set of scales or anything. I did notice that my clothes don't fit anymore if that's what you're asking."

"You said you'd eat." Cuddy span on the stool; retrieving the plate from the bench behind her and passing it to him.

"What is it?" House looked at the sandwich, lifting a piece of bread and peering at the contents through his drug-induced fog.

"Ham, cheese and salad." Cuddy replied.

"Boring, but you got me jello." House smiled at her sweetly. He dragged his little finger across the top of the purple dessert, leaving a trench in the surface. He slowly sucked the jello off his finger. "Grape. Yummm."

"Greg. Pain, on a scale of one to ten." Cuddy sighed, shaking her head at him and fighting the smile that threatened to break out across her face.

"Hmm." He slowly took a bite of his sandwich, chewing it thoughtfully. "Ten minutes ago I would have said maybe a twenty six, now I'd say about a six."

"So it's still pretty bad?" Cuddy watched him carefully.

"It doesn't tickle, sweetheart." House quipped without menace, the words blending in places. He placed the sandwich back onto the plate. "Where's my spoon?"

"I thought I got one..." Cuddy looked from the plate to the bench. She paused for a moment before grabbing a tongue depressor from the jar behind her. "Use this."

"Resourceful." House looked at her with foggy-eyed admiration. "Did I ever tell you that you grew up into a seriously hot lady doctor?" House dug the tongue depressor into the jello. "Now say ahhhh." He spoke down into the dessert.

"Oh god," Cuddy sighed, desperately attempting to stifle a giggle. "That IV injection was a mistake. I should have gone into muscle."

"Where's the fun in that?" House replied slowly, concentrating on getting the jello-coated tongue depressor into his mouth. "Little Lisa Cuddy, all grown up. You've done well for yourself…" House paused; he speared at his jello again with the tongue depressor. "Still got a great rack." House grinned, raising his eyebrows.

"You're high." Cuddy replied flatly, clearly unimpressed. House spilt grape jello on his shirt. She shook her head, laughing.

"I don't know where my mouth is." House laughed for the first time in four months. "She's not coming back, is she?"

"No." Cuddy watched him carefully. "Do you want her back?"

"No." House sighed. He flipped open half of the sandwich and picked out the ham. He tilted his head back and slid it into his mouth. Cuddy caught herself taking in the long lines of his neck from the far reaches of the stubble that covered the area beneath his jaw right down to the torn collar of his t-shirt. She attempted to blink the image away, banishing the thought.

Cuddy sat with him as he picked at his sandwich and spread jello across his shirt, making light conversation as the morphine consumed him. He ate most of the sandwich, spreading shredded lettuce across the plate, throwing a slice of tomato at the door to confirm his hypothesis that it wouldn't stick like a pickle. Cuddy found herself doubled over with laughter and not overly concerned about the mess. Up until he appeared in her hospital some four months ago, she hadn't seen Greg House in fifteen years, and in that four months she hadn't heard him laugh until then. With tomato on the floor, she drew the line when he wanted to feed her jello off the tongue depressor.

"Man I'm wasted." House sighed, staring at the ceiling.

"Have you finished playing with your food?" Cuddy asked. She imagined that this was what child rearing was like.

"Uhh," House started at his plate in fuzzy contemplation, he poked the lettuce around his plate with an index finger. "Yep." He handed the plate to her. Cuddy took it and placed it on the bench behind her. House shifted on the exam table, he was beginning to itch.

"Let's have a look at your leg." Cuddy stood.

"You gonna patch up my arm?" House waved his right arm at her, the tourniquet still held the cotton ball in place in the crook of his elbow.

"Okay." Cuddy unclipped the tourniquet and removed the cotton wool. "You've bled a little more than I'd have liked." Cuddy tore a corner off the cotton ball and fastened it over the puncture wound with a sticking plaster. "Now, let me see your leg."

"You've seen it before." House slurred in irritation. "It hasn't changed. A leg is a leg is a leg."

"If you don't unbutton your jeans, I will." Cuddy threatened.

"Okay." House watched her, a look of mild surprise tickling his features. He folded his arms behind his head and waited, looking to call her bluff. The world moved a little slower now, the pain in his leg had faded to a dull ache for the first time in days.

Cuddy quickly unbuttoned his jeans, sliding the zip down with little fanfare.

"Hips up." She instructed. House shifted his hands from behind his head and bodily lifted his hips from the bed. Cuddy gripped the waistband of his jeans and shifted them down over his ass to his knees. House turned away, staring at the far wall as she pushed the right leg of shorts up to his groin to reveal the long purple scar that ran from his groin to just above his knee. House flinched involuntarily as he felt her fingers trace the length of the angry mass of tissue the surgeons had left in their wake, through the blur of the drugs he could feel her hand trembling. Cuddy's breath left her lips with a distinct hiss, she felt up and down the length of the scar, applying pressure at various points, as he continued to stare at the wall making no attempt to hide his discomfort.

"It's taken longer to heal than I anticipated." Cuddy spoke quietly. "How are you getting around? Crutches still?"

"Yep." House grunted, still looking away. Cuddy ran a fingertip absently along the length of the scar.

"And the physical therapy, how's that going?" She continued, unable to tear her gaze from the remnants of his thigh. She did this; it was her handiwork as much as the Surgeon's, the thought of it made her sick.

"About as much fun as having teeth drilled." House looked at her briefly. "Finished admiring your work?"

"Does it hurt?" Cuddy paused, instantly regretting the question. "The scar."

"Every time I look at it." House turned to face her, his piercing stare threatening to leave an indelible mark on her soul.

Desperate to avoid his eyes, Cuddy checked her watch.

"It's been an hour, do you think you can stand? You can't stay here all day."

House stood long enough to pull his jeans back up before slumping to the floor. He spent the rest of the day dozing on the couch in Cuddy's office while she worked, t-shirt stained purple across his heart, silent in his narcotic-induced slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

House began to stir. He groaned, attempting to stretch his upper body, blinking rapidly as he sought to take in his surroundings. There was a lot of wood, dark wood, expensive wood. The couch was a chesterfield, expensive and impractical. He braced his left foot against the far armrest and began to rub his back against the couch beneath him, the friction of t-shirt material against his skin a deeply satisfying sensation given his current state. House sighed, rubbing the skin on his forearms.

"Greg?" Lisa Cuddy. She was here, seated behind an expensive looking desk. House sat up, wincing. He figured he was in her office. "Greg. How's your vision?"

"You want me to do an eye test?" House looked at her quizzically. He poked his tongue out, face contorted as he struggled to come to terms with the inside of his mouth.

"Catch." Cuddy threw a plastic bottle of water at him, watching his eyes as they tracked the bottle through the air and into his hands. He unscrewed the cap slowly, before tilting his head back and taking a long swallow of water. Cuddy found her eyes straying down the length of his throat once more.

"Thanks." House wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"How're you feeling?" Cuddy watched him carefully as he stretched his neck.

"Pretty fucked up." House ran his fingers across his chin, the stubble momentarily abating the itch in his fingertips. It was good. He rubbed his forearm against his cheek. "Oh that's nice."

"Keep drinking." Cuddy prompted. She picked up an orange pill bottle that sat to her left and shook it. House's eyes locked onto her. "Catch." She threw it, a little harder this time and off to the left. House's hand shot out snatching it from the air. He popped the lid off, shook out a pill and chased it with another long mouthful of water. House's eyes closed momentarily, he nodded to himself, left foot tapping against the floor then resumed rubbing his chin against his forearms.

"Nice…" A peculiar smile spread across House's face. "Will you scratch my back?"

"You're not serious." Cuddy raised an eyebrow at him. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 5.30. Good enough. "Get up. I'm taking you home."

"You don't have to, I can drive." House looked around, spying his crutches leaning against the armrest of the chesterfield; he scowled at the elaborate pattern of studs that embellished the leather. He stood uneasily, weight braced on his left leg as he fumbled for the crutches. Cuddy had thrown her things into her bag and was waiting, passing them to him one at a time. House wedged the crutches under his arms, swinging his weight forward unsteadily, right leg still dragging.

"Where did you park?" Cuddy asked, walking beside him slowly, eyes never shifting from his figure as he slowly dragged himself forward.

"Handicapped bay." House laughed ruefully.

"Give me your keys." Cuddy held out her hand.

"My hands are kinda full right now." House snapped, the morphine was well and truly fading.

"Stop." Cuddy barked at him. House glared at her, leaning heavily on his crutches. She patted down he sides of his hips, finding the bulge of his keys in his right front pocket. Cuddy reached in and fished them out; inwardly glad he had lost enough weight to ensure his jeans were a loose fit. House lurched forward again and the pair slowly made their way through the clinic and out into the car park.

"Which one's yours?" Cuddy scanned the three vehicles parked in the handicapped area.

"Guess." House leant on his crutches.

Cuddy looked down at the car keys in her hand, turning them over in contemplation. She pressed the button on the fat black plastic end of the key. Lights flashed and locks rose on a shiny black pickup.

"Geez." House sighed. "You're no fun."

"I should have guessed." Cuddy sighed, walking over to the passenger door to open it for him. "It practically screams 'fuck you.'"

"Well it practically screams impractical to me." House handed her his crutches, struggling to hoist himself up into the cabin. "I'm going to have to sell it."

Cuddy passed his crutches in to him and closed the door. She wandered around to the drivers' side, swinging herself bodily into the cabin. Feeling around beneath her, she dragged the seat forward, sliding the key into the ignition.

"Where am I going?" Cuddy dropped the pickup into gear.

"I'll tell you when we get there."

Cuddy pulled the pickup to a stop in front of a modest looking townhouse. She flicked the keys from the ignition.

"Stay here." She turned to House.

"What, you're not letting me inside my own house?" House looked at her incredulously.

"You're staying with me until I can trust you not to do anything stupid." Cuddy replied sternly as if speaking to a small child.

"Are you insane?" House glared at her, the morphine fully out of his system. "You're my doctor for crying out loud! We hardly know each other."

"You're a walking train wreck." Cuddy snapped at him. "I let you go back in there, your neighbours find you dead in three weeks time when the smell starts to bug them."

"I don't need your help." House snarled. "I've had a few bad days, but I'm fine now."

"You ran out of pills, you've hardly eaten in a week," Cuddy began to compile a list. "I'm pretty certain you haven't showered in at least a week…"

"I don't need your pity." House spat the words at her.

"So you go back inside, and I'll send the M.E. round in say two weeks to collect your body." Cuddy glared at him. "Or, how about this, you've got two weeks worth of Vicodin there, how about we both go inside and you chase the whole lot with a few whiskeys. End things right now."

House stared ahead in silence.

"So?" Cuddy spun the keys on her finger. "What's it going to be?"

"What's for dinner?" House muttered in resignation.

"I'll go and get your things." Cuddy swung the door open, dropping from the cab to the sidewalk. She slammed the door shut and traversed the few steps to House's door. Cuddy looked at the keys, there were two on the ring along with the car key. She chose one and slid it into the lock. It turned easily. Cuddy pushed through the door into House's lounge room, instantly noticing the empty space permeated the landscape where Stacy had extricated herself from his life. A lighter square on one wall where a picture once hung, gaps on the bookshelves that lined the room, squares and other shapes on ledges and coffee tables ringed with dust leaving nothing in place of something. The emptiness amidst the academic clutter of House's life tore at her as she wandered slowly though. The bedroom was easy enough to find, Cuddy simply followed the scent of sweat and whiskey. Again, not dirty so much as cluttered, a few articles of dirty clothing peppered the floor, empty bourbon bottle on the nightstand along with an assortment of empty pill bottles. The closet was open and half empty, continuing the post-Stacy decorating theme of the lounge room. Empty draws, more dust rings, bedclothes balled up in the centre of the bed, sheets bearing suspicious stains… Cuddy wondered how long he had been sleeping in them before shaking her head in dismissal. Catching sight of a backpack in the closet she grabbed it, hunting through the closet and selecting two pair of jeans, a few t-shirts and an old sweater. She hunted through the chest of draws finding two pairs of clean underwear a few pair of socks and a pair of sweatpants. She moved on to the bathroom, adding a razor and a can of shaving foam. There were two toothbrushes, one green, one blue. Cuddy closed her eyes momentarily before selecting the green one and adding it to the backpack. Cuddy exited at speed, turning off lights as she went eager to leave the emptiness.

House sat in the car staring ahead blankly. He resisted the urge to take another Vicodin as he heard his front door slam. The door to his left swung open and a backpack hit him in the chest.

"Hey!" House protested, looking down at the bag.

"You're the idiot who bought the car without a back seat." Cuddy swung into the cab, jamming the keys into the ignition.

House stared ahead in silence as Cuddy drove, neither party looking to break the silence with either words or the radio.

Cuddy had a comfortable place a little further out in the suburbs, the pickup looked ridiculous in her driveway; the neighbours would talk. She grabbed House's backpack and her own bag from the car before going around to the passenger side to help him from the car. Three months ago he would have complained vociferously and fallen out of the truck in defiance, now he offered no resistance as she helped him down, waiting for him to balance on his crutches before walking him to her front door. House dragged himself in.

"Nice place." He looked around, silently appraising her taste in furniture, shuffling toward the couch.

"Oh no." Cuddy grabbed him by the shirtsleeve and began towing him down the hall. "You're not touching anything until you've had a bath."

"Christ, I'm not a dog." House whinged as she guided him toward the bathroom.

"You smell like one." Cuddy snapped back dragging House into the bathroom. He leant heavily against the vanity as Cuddy dropped the bathplug into place and switched the water on.

"How am I going to get in there…" House looked at the raised, built in tub, shaking his head.

"We'll figure it out." Cuddy offered in a reassuring tone, squirting something purple and lavender-scented into the bath. House stood quietly watching bubbles forming on the surface as the water level slowly rose. He leant his crutches against the wall next to the vanity then slowly pulled his jello-stained t-shirt off over his head, dropping it to the floor at his feet.

"Could you… " House began. Cuddy watched him; he gripped the vanity behind him tightly, muscles leaping out of his chest and arms as he stared at the floor. "Help me with my shoes?" He concluded, barely above a whisper. Cuddy kneeled down at his feet, untying his laces.

"Okay." Cuddy snaked a hand around one lean calf. "Lift up." He lifted himself off the ground, gripping the basin behind him; Cuddy slid off his shoe and sock, repeating the procedure on his other foot. She stood up shutting the water off, before quickly dipping a hand in to test the water temperature.

"You like it hot?" She asked. House unbuttoned his jeans, letting them fall to the floor. He stood in front of her in his underwear right hand partially obscuring the scar on his leg.

"Yeah." House refused to meet her gaze. "You wanna give me a moment here."

"You've figured out how you're going to get in?" Cuddy asked.

"I'm going to sit on the ledge there," House pointed to the edge of the bath nearest the wall, "Lift my leg in then slide in down the slope."

"Okay." Cuddy offered a reassuring smile. Never insult a man standing in his underwear. "Give me a yell when you're in."

"You're going to wash me?" House looked at her stunned.

"Yes." Cuddy glared at him. "Problem?"

"No." House shrugged. Cuddy exited. House waited until he was certain she was out of view then slid his underwear down, stepping out of them and lowering himself down onto the raised edge of the bath, porcelain cold against his skin. He inhaled sharply, knowing there was logic in having sent Cuddy out. He lifted his right leg painfully over the ledge and into the bath followed by the left. House took a deep breath then gripped the sides of the bath, lowering himself into the water.

"Ooooo." He hissed. "That is sooo good." Cuddy appeared in the doorway clad in loose sweatpants and a singlet towing a chair behind her. She dragged it until she reached the edge of the bath, placing shampoo, soap and a washcloth on the ledge at the side of the bath before dropping down onto the chair.

"Okay." Cuddy watched him reclining in the bath with a hint of satisfaction. "Head under."

"Yes Mom." House mocked her, lying back down in the water order to briefly submerge himself. He sat up, shaking his head immediately, sending a spray of water across the room and over Cuddy.

"Hey." Cuddy squealed, shielding her face.

"Sorry." House blinked the water from his eyes. "Force of habit." Cuddy squeezed a dollop of shampoo onto her palm.

"Come here." He didn't need to be asked twice, shifting to the near edge of the bathtub. Cuddy began to gently work the shampoo into his hair fingers tracing firm circles across the topography of his skull. House offered a contented sigh; she had great hands, surprisingly strong fingers for a woman. The fingers in question slid down his neck, he shifted slightly so his back faced toward her. She gently kneaded the sinewy strips of muscle that ran from the back of his neck to his shoulders. House groaned, blood beginning to rush to his groin. He didn't care; the fact that he couldn't take his own shoes off was far more embarrassing than getting hard while this gorgeous woman washed his hair.

"Okay, head back under Greg." Cuddy let her finger trail along his shoulder. House ducked back under the water, running a hand through his hair to remove the last of the soap. She handed House the soap and washcloth.

"What, you're not going to keep going?" House asked, watching her rummaging though his backpack.

"You wash the rest of yourself." She produced the shaving foam and razor. "It'll be easier if we do this in here."

"You're going to shave me?" House looked at her quizzically. "I didn't know that was your thing… Can I do you next?"

"Your face." Cuddy took the washcloth from him, using it to soften the thick stubble that hid his cheeks. She squirted a small pile of shaving foam into her palm and began to work it into a lather across his face. She tilted his chin up, holding his face in position with her index finger Cuddy dipped the razor into the water then ran slid it up along his neck to the edge of his jaw in one smooth stroke. She cleaned the razor in the bathwater before repeating the stroke just to the left of the first.

"Why did you stop shaving?" She asked, running her fingertips along the smooth skin she had exposed along the right side of his throat.

"My hand hasn't been steady enough." House replied quietly as she finished the left side of his throat, thankful she was taking her time as his erection began to subside. Cuddy tilted his head back down and began again from right to left. House sighed. It was equally erotic and demoralising. He felt like a child. He had no idea why she was doing it but assumed it was out of guilt, or perhaps loneliness. Cuddy slowly cleared the stubble from his cheek, working down along the sharp line of his jaw. Cleaning the razor she carefully shaved his chin, then above his top lip before shifting over to the other cheek, tilting his head for better access. Cuddy placed the razor on the ledge, then dipped her hands into the bath water, smoothing them over his face in a measured tactile inspection of her work. House smiled at her, rubbing a smooth cheek against her hand.

"Okay, time to get out." Cuddy stood up, grabbing a towel from the rack. House gripped the edges of the bath and pushed himself back up to the ledge, he gingerly swung his legs back over the edge of the bath, feet finding the bath mat. House slowly stood, shifting his weight until he was convinced that the bath mat was providing adequate traction. He looked down, unsure as to whether he should cover his manhood or his thigh. A towel landed on his head, the question was no longer relevant. He wrapped it around his waist. Cuddy pulled the plug, draining the bath.

"Feel like something to eat?" She asked, gathering up his dirty clothes and heading for the door.

"Maybe just some toast." House smoothed his hand across his chin thoughtfully; she'd done a good job.

Sprawled across Cuddy's couch wearing loose sweatpants and a t-shirt House felt like a kid. For the first time in a long while he felt relaxed, the pain was bearable. Cuddy wandered in with two slices of buttered toast and a glass of orange juice, placing them on the coffee table within his reach then arranging herself in the chair opposite him. House snagged a piece of toast and crunched on it thoughtfully.

"So where's Mr Cuddy?" He asked, voice muffled by bread.

"There is no Mr Cuddy." She replied.

"May I ask why?" House inquired, tone painfully polite. "I mean I don't really know you too well, but I can't see any reason why you'd want me here when you could practically have any guy you wanted."

"Thanks." Cuddy fought the flush that spread across her cheeks. "But I have a hospital, I don't exactly have the time for a boyfriend."

"Fair enough." House nodded to himself. "A hospital won't give you a cuddle when you come home though."

"Greg, why were you fired from your last job?" Cuddy changed the subject.

"You don't know?" He raised his eyebrows, leaning forward to take a mouthful of orange juice. He swallowed, reconstituted oranges, no pulp; excellent.

"No." Cuddy shrugged. "But I can ask around if that's more self-gratifying for you."

"A Neurologist where I was working was going to knock out a guy with drug-induced Parkinson's to do an MRI." House began. "I told him that I had a special combination of tranquillisers and an anti-convulsant that would be more effective, he didn't believe me."

"So you drugged his patient?" Cuddy filled the blanks, House was a renegade, she knew as much from college and the stories that circulated about him.

"No," House paused, a vague smile crossing his face. "I took enough anti-psychotics to induce Parkinson's like symptoms, then took the combo myself to prove it was safe. He dobbed me in, the Dean was sick of me, and now I am certifiably unemployed." He took another bite of his toast.

"So that's what the drugs thing was?" Cuddy asked.

"The same guy accused me of having a coke habit three months earlier." House shrugged. "I guess it stuck."

They chatted for a few hours, Cuddy monitored him carefully throughout. He seemed more relaxed, probably a combination of the bath, drugs some food and a change of environment. Without the beard he looked younger, but his cheekbones protruded in a starkly angular fashion, and the shadows that ringed his piercing eyes served as a reminder that the narcotics he had suddenly become dependent on had stolen his appetite.

As the hands on her watch swept past 10.30 Cuddy decided to call it a night.

"Look, I'll sleep on the couch, okay?" Cuddy called out to House as he brushed his teeth.

"Don't be stupid, Lisa." He shouted through a mouthful of toothpaste. "It's your bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

"Take the bed, Greg." She lent on the doorframe, watching him as he rinsed his mouth.

"How about we share it?" He suggested. "Half and half."

"You sure?" Cuddy asked.

"Yeah, why not." House shrugged, grabbing his pill bottle from the vanity and limping slowly through into Cuddy's bedroom. "Which side do you want?"

"Uh, whatever," Cuddy grabbed her nightgown and vanished into the bathroom to change. "You choose."

House dropped onto the near side of the bed, flinging off his t-shirt and physically lifting his leg up onto the bed, the action punctuated with a pained grunt. He lay down, lifting his hips to shrug off his sweatpants before easing under the covers. A hot bath, fluffy towels and clean sheets; House figured things couldn't really get too much better than this. He uncapped his pill bottle and swallowed a single Vicodin. Cuddy strode from the bathroom clad in a short blue nightgown, instantly noticing his bare chest.

"You're not naked under there, are you?" She regarded him suspiciously.

"Wanna find out?" House shot her a smutty look, making no secret of the fact he was enjoying her change of attire as his eyes travelled the length of her legs.

"You haven't changed a bit." Cuddy pulled back the covers and slid into bed, keeping a safe distance from him. "You right?"

"Yep." House nodded, staring at the ceiling. Cuddy killed the lamp, plunging them into relative darkness. They both lay in silence, checking the paintwork for cracks.

"Well, this is awkward." Cuddy broke the impasse.

"Hey, I've just come out of a long term relationship." House looked over at her. "I thought this constituted foreplay." Cuddy laughed a little too loudly. House shifted toward her. "Come here." He patted the mattress beside him. Cuddy inched her way over. He met her eyes in the dim light that trickled through the window.

"Look…" House began. "Things are kind of shitty for me right now. But, thanks…" He paused, looking down at the sheets. "For not dropping me home."

"Greg, I just…"

"Shhh." He clapped a hand over her mouth. "Don't say it, Lisa. Please."

Cuddy nodded silently.

"Come here." House patted his chest. Cuddy looked at him sceptically. He rolled his eyes in the dark, grabbing her and physically dragging her across toward him. House wrapped his arms around her, one hand slipping into the hollow of her back.

"This generally isn't my thing." He whispered. "But I'm still a little blissed out from the bath." Cuddy draped an arm across his chest, letting her fingers trail up his throat and back down again.

"How did you know which one was my toothbrush?"

"Geniuses always choose green." Cuddy murmured, enjoying the heat of his body as she dozed off.


	3. Chapter 3: Wednesday

**Chapter three: Wednesday**

Cuddy woke at 6am every morning. When she accepted the Dean's role at Princeton Plainsboro, she quickly discovered that if she arrived an hour and a half before most of the day staff she had plenty of time to deal with any minor crises that had arisen during the night before anyone came in to bother her. House woke as soon as his pain meds wore off. When her alarm sliced through the soft morning banter of a handful of birds, Cuddy woke almost instantly, snapping off the buzzer before rolling over to check on the man beside her. He was awake, staring at the ceiling glassy eyed.

"Hey." Cuddy looked at him, mild concern filtering through her bleary eyes. House's head rolled on the pillow, eyes slowly meeting her gaze.

"Hey." His reply lifeless, eyes dull in soft light that spread through the room. Cuddy slid out of bed, striding toward the bathroom with the sort of purpose most people are unable to muster at that time of morning. House watched her close the door, moments later he heard running water, he sighed, returning his attention to the ceiling. Cuddy emerged some ten minutes later, wrapped in a towel, opening drawers, selecting undergarments. House propped himself up against the headboard, watching her as she strode into the large, walk-in closet that cut into the far wall. This was familiar. Stacy woke early as well, earlier than he ever did. If he ever found himself awake at the sort of ungodly hour at which she rose he would watch her. After the infarction he hardly slept, but would pretend to as soon as she woke. A flash of black as Cuddy strode back toward the bathroom snapped him out of his thoughts before the obnoxious whine of a hairdryer cut through the morning bird noises. House reached over the side of the bed, fumbling around for his sweatpants. He hooked a finger through the fabric and flicked them up toward where he lay, throwing the bedclothes back. He bent forward, pulling them over his feet and up to his knees before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. House stood slowly, wincing as he pulled his pants up. He grabbed one of his crutches, wedging it firmly under his right arm and limped slowly into the bathroom. He brushed past Cuddy as she dried her hair and propped his crutch against the wall next to the toilet. He lifted the toilet seat up. Cuddy killed the hairdryer.

"Switch it back on." House grumbled. Cuddy shrugged and returned to drying her hair, watching him out of the corner of one eye. He sighed, shoulders relaxed, head tilting backward as he emptied his bladder. Cuddy finished drying her hair and unplugged the dryer, quickly wrapping the cord around the handle and placing it back into the cabinet above the basin. She gathered her hair into a loose ponytail and secured it with a clip, leaning a hip against the basin as House flushed. He began to turn toward the basin.

"Greg." Cuddy nodded at the toilet seat.

"Women." House mumbled, flicking the seat back down.

"Wash your hands." Cuddy chided as she walked out. House rolled his eyes, shifting his crutch from the wall to the side of the basin and turning on the tap.

By the time House wandered into the kitchen, Cuddy was seated at the table, sipping coffee and casually slicing a banana over her muesli. She looked up at him, his movement far from elegant as he leaned on the single crutch, but he still retained a potent physicality, all lean muscle and barely contained anger as he shifted his weight forward, almost daring gravity to take hold and pull him to the floor. Cuddy returned her attention to breakfast, adding a liberal amount of milk to the bowl. She picked up a spoon, poking at the assortment of grains and banana absently before loading the utensil. House reached the table and grabbed the milk carton from in front of her, adjusting the lips of the carton briefly before lifting it to his own.

"Hey!" Cuddy glared at him. "That's mine. Use a glass." He ignored her. Maintaining her irritation, Cuddy watched his throat shift with every gulp.

"Uhhghh." House screwed his face up, dropping the empty carton back onto the table with a hollow thunk. "Low fat."

"Are you being intentionally obnoxious this morning?" Cuddy glared at him, unimpressed. "Or are you normally like this?"

"Generally I'm much worse." House returned her glare. "Toast?"

"On the counter." Cuddy sighed, returning to her muesli. House dragged himself over to the counter, fiddling with the plastic clip that prevented the loaf of bread from escaping the bag. He growled at it in frustration, tearing the bag open in his impatience. He jammed two pieces of bread into the toaster and depressed the lever. He turned to face Cuddy. Having watched the entire incident, she shook her head and finished the last of her cereal. The toast popped, House fished it out of the toaster and limped back to the table, dropping down into the chair next to Cuddy with a grunt.

"Heard of using a plate?" Cuddy watched him, unimpressed.

"Plate?" House crunched on his toast, cocking his head to the side, brow furrowed. "Interesting idea."

Cuddy watched him eat; he leaned back in the chair, toast crumbs collecting in the light hair that dusted his chest.

"I'm going to work." Cuddy stood up, collecting her empty bowl, cup and the milk carton and wandered over to the sink. She returned to the table, standing behind House then lent over his shoulder, brushing the crumbs off his chest. He craned his neck backward to look up at her; her fingers trailed up the length of his neck to grip his chin. Cuddy eyeballed him.

"I swear this is like having a child." She glared down at him. House grinned at her, tempted to blow toast crumbs in her face. He refrained. Cuddy strode back to the bedroom, emerging a few minutes later some three inches taller and made up, carrying her bag. She grabbed House's keys from the table near the front door.

"You're taking my car?" House looked at her incredulously.

"Mine's still at work, remember?" Cuddy replied patiently, she sighed. "Look, stay here, try not to break anything, and be good." Cuddy paused, "and don't go through my stuff."

"Yes Mom." House mumbled through a mouthful of toast. He looked at the clock, 6.45, fantastic.

The days were always harder than the nights, which didn't seem to make sense. He attributed it to the fact that he was barely mobile and essentially useless. His first thought was to start hunting through Cuddy's house for booze, but he figured he owed it to her to at least try to stay sober.

Cuddy arrived home at 7pm, carrying a few bags of groceries. House lay sprawled across her couch nursing a box of Cheerios watching TV, a basket of neatly folded laundry on the coffee table in front of him.

"You did laundry?" Cuddy asked in a state of mild shock.

"Uhuh." House looked up from the TV. "You shopped. We're practically married."

"You hungry?" Cuddy asked, packing eggs and milk into the fridge.

"Yeah," House put the box of cereal onto the coffee table and swung his legs over the edge of the couch. "Whatcha cooking?"

"Steak." Cuddy held up a pair of sirloins trapped between plastic wrap and a styrofoam tray. "Will you eat vegetables?"

"Maybe." House hoisted himself off the couch and limped over to the kitchen table, sitting down heavily.

"Here," Cuddy dropped a handful of potatoes, a peeler and a sheet of newspaper in front of him. "Make yourself useful."

"That's no way to treat a guest." House grumbled. "No wonder you're single."

"Me?" Cuddy looked at him incredulously. "I can't believe anyone would put up with you for five years."

"I'm great in bed." House began to peel a potato. "And I've got that whole tortured genius thing, chicks dig that."

"And modest." Cuddy opened a cupboard, producing a grill plate. She set it on the stove alongside a pot of water. House slowly peeled, placing the potatoes in a neat line along the edge of the newspaper, humming quietly to himself as he worked. Cuddy leant against the sink, arms folded across her chest watching him.

"Why are you keeping me here?" House asked, starting another potato. "Still convinced I'm going to off myself, or do you collect cripples?"

"You're sick." Cuddy replied bluntly.

"So take me to hospital." House offered the logical answer. "There are doctors there…" He paused, tilting his head to watch her. "Or is the hospital the issue here?"

Cuddy looked around, seeking a distraction.

"See I know you don't want a pet…" House returned to his peeling. "A puppy would be way cuter than I am, probably easier to look after." House tidied the pile of potato peelings in the center of the newspaper. "You could take me into your room and take advantage of me in my weakened state, but that practically screams rebound…"

"Do you have a point?" Cuddy snapped, snatching the potato out of his hands along with the others. "Or do you just like hearing the sound of your own voice?"

"See, now the only thing you care about is your career." House leaned back in the chair, arms folded across his chest watching Cuddy as she dropped the potatoes into the pot of now boiling water. "That hospital means everything to you. Which leads me to my point…"

"Wonderful." Cuddy sat down at the table across from him, wrapping the potato peelings up in the newspaper. "Enlighten me."

"I know that you generally don't see patients outside of the odd clinic gig when you're understaffed." House continued. "Yet you're still treating me…"

"We made a mistake, I'm responsible for everything…"

"Ahh!" House's eyes flashed. "See that's the thing, Lisa. It takes a chain of small seemingly insignificant mistakes to cause a crisis. Tell, me which one was yours?"

"Bringing you here." Cuddy growled.

"None of them." House ignored her. "The system fails. Happens all the time, Lisa. Patients die, life goes on, and here we are." House paused. "I am the embodiment of failure in _your_ system. _Your_ hospital."

House watched her carefully. Cuddy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She stood up and wandered over to the stove, dumping the newspaper into the trash and lighting the coil beneath the grill. She turned back to face him.

"I represent everything that you can't control from your little office." House concluded.

Cuddy threw the pair of steaks onto the grill.

"How do you like your steak?"

"Rare."

They ate in silence; House tearing into his food with a veracity that he found startling. The steak was good, exactly what he needed. Cuddy couldn't look at him. He cleaned his plate with a slice of bread.

"So what happens now?" House looked at her. Cuddy shifted her food around her plate; appetite all but gone. "Am I staying here until you forgive yourself?"

Cuddy sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"Do you remember what you said to me yesterday?" Cuddy asked. "About the scar on your leg?"

House was silent; he stared at his plate.

"That's how I feel when I see you dragging your sorry ass around on your crutches." Cuddy paused, a hint of malice in her voice. "You should have walked out of my hospital, and it tears me apart that you couldn't." Cuddy paused. "Happy now?"

House said nothing. Cuddy stood, collecting both plates and heading over to the sink. She scraped the remainder of dinner into the trash and began to load the dishwasher.

"I know she made you do it." House said quietly.

Cuddy stopped, turning to face him.

"If I hadn't, she just would have found someone who would." Cuddy sighed.

"Look, I know what she's like." House turned in his chair to face her. "It's not your fault, Lisa."

"I wish it were that easy, Greg." Cuddy closed the dishwasher and walked away.

House fished into the pocket of his sweatpants for his Vicodin; down the passage doors slammed and the shower sprang into life. He tapped out a pill, swallowing it dry. He hadn't asked for this.

There was nothing on TV, House flicked between a re-run of last weekend's baseball and some B grade film featuring one of the Baldwins for around half an hour before beginning to cycle endlessly through the channels, silently glad Cuddy had cable. After a five full rotations he found a foreign language film starring a pair of bi-sexual Swedish girls. House had never cared much for blondes; lesbians on the other hand were a different case entirely, and largely more appealing than any member of the Baldwin family. Forty five minutes later he still had no idea what the film was about, but the lesbians had fucked twice; once in a bed, once in a barn full of hay (he had laughed so loudly at how trite it was at the time that his leg hurt), and currently one of the girls was fooling around with some hairy guy; big, round breasts bouncing as she pretended to ride him for the cameras. House sighed, silently thanking the gods for European cinema.

Cuddy sat in bed leafing through staffing reports in preparation for the board meeting scheduled for tomorrow evening. The clinic was understaffed in light of the departure of a pair of research fellows earlier that month. She had been forced to fire a junior Cardiologist earlier that month for writing fake prescriptions and everyone wanted more money in spite of the hospital's limited budget. Sarcastic laughter filtered through from the lounge, Cuddy looked over at the clock, it was getting late. A small part of her wondered what House was watching. The television noise suddenly died, only to be replaced by the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. House stuck his head into the bedroom.

"Is my bag still in the bathroom?" House asked. Cuddy nodded, not looking up from the report she was reading. She waited until she heard the bathroom door close before looking up from the report. It was strange, they had met briefly in Med school and she had known him as this wild, casually brilliant guy. A terrific athlete and utterly fearless when it came to life in general, literally saying whatever flew into his head at any given time. Half of his Professors hated him; all of them secretly envied him. She had always imagined that he would go on to become some great doctor, maybe cure cancer or win a Nobel prize or something, however life experience had taught her that hard work was the source of greatness, brilliance ultimately proved problematic. Over the last few months she had gotten to know him fairly well; still the same man she remembered from all those years ago, but older, more complicated and embittered in the wake of the infarction.

From where Cuddy sat, Stacy leaving him was a blessing in disguise. The woman had gone out of her way to compensate for what she had done, fawning over House like a child, speaking on his behalf and treating him like an invalid. He hardly spoke in her presence and seemed reluctant to look at Stacy or acknowledge her existence. The sheer willpower required in order to maintain that degree of hostility must have been emotionally draining in itself; Cuddy sensed that insofar as House was concerned, silence was far worse than anger. At that moment, the man in question appeared in the doorway, clad only in white jockey shorts that for all intents and purposes seemed to hang too loosely from his lean hips.

"Do you want me to sleep on the couch tonight?" House asked, shifting his weight against the crutch that seemed to have become his constant companion.

"No." Cuddy sighed, shifting over to the far side of the bed. "Last night was kind of… Nice." House limped over to the side of the bed, placing his pill bottle on the nightstand.

"Don't get used to it." He threw the covers back. "I'm not a cuddly guy. That was the morphine." House folded himself carefully into bed. "What's that?" He attempted to look at the papers over her shoulder.

"Board meeting tomorrow night." Cuddy replied. "Just going over some staffing reports."

"Uhuh." House nodded. "So you'll be home late?"

"Yeah." Cuddy continued to read. "Hopefully not too late, but it's not looking good at this stage."

"What's the problem?" House asked, lying down on his side, propping his head up on his arm. "Budget, staffing, legal?"

"Greg, it's a teaching hospital." Cuddy replied thickly. "Those come standard in the problem department."

"Seriously?" House cocked his head to one side. "My last boss told me that I was the sole cause of every budget, staffing and legal problem that he had."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Cuddy looked down at him, one eyebrow raised.

"You wanna talk about it?" House offered. "Maybe I can help?"

"Do you want to sue?" Cuddy asked. "I've got this month's summary from legal here, I can just add you on if you like."

"The only person I feel like taking action against doesn't work at your hospital." House rolled onto his back and resumed looking at the ceiling. Cuddy sighed, placing the stack of papers onto her nightstand.

"What were you watching on TV?" Cuddy folded the bedclothes back and slipped under. "Comedy or something?"

"Of sorts." House chuckled, rolling onto his side to face her again. "Foreign language film.

"What sort of foreign language film?" Cuddy asked cautiously.

"A Swedish one." House paused. "Sort of an educational film." He sat up, grabbing his Vicodin off the nightstand.

"Learn anything?" Cuddy asked.

"Nothing I didn't already know." House swallowed and lay back down again. "Thanks for dinner by the way."

"That's okay." Cuddy leant over and switched off the lamp, the room fading into darkness. "I'm just glad you're eating something other than toast."

"It's the Vicodin." House sighed. "Kills your appetite. I'm getting used to it though. Should be better once I get myself another job."

"Have you got any idea about what you're going to do?" Cuddy asked.

"I've always wanted to be a stewardess." House sighed wistfully.

"You're such a dick." Cuddy rolled over to face the window. "Goodnight Greg."

"Fine," House offered fake attitude. "Trample on my dreams."

House couldn't sleep. The pain was bearable but his thoughts troubled him. He gazed over at the clock for the umpteenth time, agitated that only a few minutes had passed since he last checked. If he were at home he'd be drinking, chase a few extra Vicodin with bourbon and wait for it to knock him out. He knew he wouldn't stop at one though. Stacy was still in his house, on his sheets, in his bathroom, the flotsam and jetsam of her previous presence scattered across his home. It wasn't the memory of her that was the problem, it was what she'd done, what she'd done to him; that was the part that stung, the nagging thought that saw him reach for an extra drink in the evening. House shifted in bed, suddenly uncomfortable. Five months ago if he felt like this he would have gone for a run and kept going until his lungs tore at his chest with every breath and his legs threatened to buckle beneath him. Now he had significantly fewer options. He rolled onto his side, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Cuddy's ribcage as she slept, assuming of course that she was asleep. The creamy top of one bare shoulder seemed to absorb the moonlight that danced in though the light curtains that concealed the window. Cuddy was younger than Stacy by at least five or six years, younger than him as well; the precise figures evaded him, but he assumed she was around 33, 34 at the most. House shifted closer to her, running a finger experimentally down her exposed shoulder. No response. He shifted closer, running his fingertip down her shoulder and over the neatly defined muscles of her upper arm. House moved in behind her until his chest pressed against her back, lightly trailing his fingers up and down her arm.

Cuddy was awake; she had been the entire time, thoughts drifting back to their pre-dinner conversation. The ethical aspect of keeping one of her patients as a pet was beginning to trouble her. She heard him breathing before she felt him lightly caress her arm, gently pressing back against him as he shifted in behind her. She missed this, the last serious relationship she had ended three months before she was appointed Dean. He was an engineer who hadn't enjoyed coming second to her career; it hurt when he left, but her life immediately seemed less complicated without him. House's hand shifted under the sheets, flattening against her stomach and pulling her firmly back against him. He gently nuzzled her ear, deeply inhaling the scent of her hair. Cuddy felt his lips brush the skin just below her ear; a single day of stubble tickling her skin as he gently kissed the side of her neck. She sighed quietly, shifting against him enough to let him know she was interested. His hand drifted from her stomach, down her side, over her hip and down to her knee. House sighed quietly, nibbling on her earlobe as he drew his hand back up the outside of her thigh and underneath her nightgown, flattening his palm against the firm globe of one cheek.

This was interesting. He was hard, Cuddy could feel the firm ridge pressing against her butt; she resisted the urge to slip a hand behind her and size him up, still unsure as to what he planned on doing. She felt his fingers slide under the leg elastic of her panties, following it up and over her hip, then down… Cuddy shifted her leg up and back over his. House dragged his nose down side of her neck, fingers teasing her ever so lightly though the thin cotton of her panties. Cuddy pushed back against him hard, grinding her ass against the terrific ridge in his shorts as he continued to tease. He nipped her earlobe, rocking his hips against her. Cuddy turned around to face him, pushing him onto his back and carefully straddling his hips. House gazed up at her in the moonlight, expression a mixture of sadness and lust, fingertips trailing up and down the outside of her thighs. He gripped her hips; hands travelling firmly up her sides, nightgown gathering at his wrists as he lifted it up and over her head before discarding it. Cuddy leant forward, hard nipples skating across his chest, feeling fingertips traversing the length of her spine as he captured her lips in his.

House gripped her torso, hands splayed across ribs as they felt each other out. Cuddy gasped into his mouth, unprepared for the intensity of his kiss, tongue silky and deliberate in her mouth. Despite his position, House exercised a frightening degree of control, every motion cool, concentrated and executed with an acute sense of how and where he wanted to touch her. He pulled Cuddy forward, lifting her chest up toward his face, dragging his open mouth across the soft swell of one breast before greedily suckling on a nipple. Cuddy's fingers wound through his hair as he continued to lavish attention on her breasts eliciting a series of soft moans as he went. House shifted her weight back to his lap, locking her into deep, purposeful kiss. Cuddy broke away, desperate to kiss the glorious expanse of throat she had been silently admiring for the last day or so. She had barely planted a single kiss beneath his jaw when she felt a hand roughly tangle though her hair.

"Don't." He growled, throat vibrating beneath her lips as he lifted her head.

"Wha..?" House cut her words off with his mouth, hands leaving her head to tug at the sides of her panties. Suddenly things weren't happening fast enough for House. He didn't want her to touch him. Gripping the sides of her panties, he yanked them outward, the impatient growl of tearing fabric momentarily over-riding the gentle wet sounds of their kissing. House discarded the offending garment, deliberately running his thumb down the length of her cleft and pushing it briefly inside her, then back up to circle the firm nub of flesh at the apex of her folds. Cuddy broke their kiss, sitting up to grind against his palm, noticing the vaguely satisfied smile that tickled his features in the dim moonlight as he watched her move. She reached down beneath her, fingers sliding under the thick elastic at the top of his shorts; Cuddy's eyes met his.

"Greg?" She whispered thickly, wishing she didn't sound as desperate as she had. He nodded, lifting his hips off the mattress just enough for Cuddy to reach underneath her and pull them half way down his thighs. She twisted, arms disappearing under blankets to push them down his shins, while House silently admired the sleek curve of her torso in the moonlight, still rubbing her gently while he waited. Cuddy turned back to face him, his hands shifted to grip her hips, erection lying flush against his abdomen.

"You safe?" House rasped as she ground against him, coating him with her own slick heat.

"Mmmhmm." Cuddy nodded, fingers circling his thick shaft, angling it toward her, his head pressing lightly against her hot flesh. Teasing, she swivelled her hips quickly before sinking down onto him in a single motion, gasping as she adjusted to his girth. His eyes widened, breath escaping from between his lips with a hiss as warmth enveloped him.

"Fuck, you're tight!" House breathed, smoothing a palm up and down the length of her side as she slowly began to ride him. Satisfied that he could match her rhythm, House gently thrust up at her, admiring the sensuous ripple of muscle in the moonlight as she moved above him. They moved together slowly, deliberately; House reached up, running his thumb across her lips, which she quickly took into her mouth, tongue trailing along the underside. He groaned in sensory overload, slowly withdrawing his thumb and dropping it down between them to tease her again, a single hand guiding her hips as they moved. Cuddy's breathing quickened above him, she rode him harder, gripping him tightly. House grit his teeth, looking away as she fucked him, desperately wanting to thrust up hard into her but uncertain of his ability to maintain the rhythm. Above him she groaned, sinking down deeper, he squirmed, furious at his own incapacity, fingers tightening around her hip; thumb pressing harder as he rubbed her.

"Oh god…" Cuddy moaned, breathing ragged as a wave of pleasure swept down through her. "Greg…" He felt her tighten around him.

House stopped rubbing, gripping her hips tightly, fingers digging into her flesh as he thrust up into her hard, hips lifting off the bed. He was close. He thrust again, deeply. Cuddy moved with him, riding out the last waves of her own climax. Three more deep thrusts and he came hard, pulling her down against him swearing and hoarsely calling her name. Cuddy groaned above him, eyes squeezed shut as he throbbed inside her, satisfied in the knowledge that she'd never felt quite so full in her life. She collapsed onto his heaving chest as he lay there panting, drenched with sweat, slowly wilting inside her.

"God that was good." Cuddy whispered. He offered no reply, hands slipping from her hips. Cuddy sat up, climbing off him, his half-flaccid penis sliding across her thigh. "Your leg?"

"Baaaad." He groaned, fumbling for his Vicodin on the nightstand. Cuddy reached across him and plucked the bottle from out of his grasp, uncapping it and slipping one into his mouth. House blinked; mouth twisting as he desperately tried to generate enough saliva to swallow the pill. "Thanks"

"Greg?" Cuddy propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him and the tragic mixture of pain and resignation that clouded his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He rolled over to face the wall.

Cuddy flopped onto her back, sighing. At least he'd sleep; though she doubted she would.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four: Thursday**

Cuddy slept fitfully; never completely lapsing into deep sleep she drifted in and out of consciousness. At 5am she could take no more. Something wasn't right; she needed space, fresh air, something. Perhaps it was the room, the air hanging heavy around her with some intangible, stifling element she couldn't place. Maybe it was House- something about his behaviour perplexed her. She needed to get away, gain perspective, get some fresh air. Cuddy stumbled out of bed, quickly pulling on a singlet and a pair of sweatpants before heading for the door. She ran; feet slapping the sidewalk in time with her heartbeat, mind racing even faster, desperately hoping the rhythm of her movement would slow her brain. After five minutes she asked herself if she was running out of guilt, taking off to clear her head simply because he couldn't follow. After ten minutes reality struck; she'd just slept with a patient.

By the time Cuddy stumbled through the door some forty-five minutes later, she had almost convinced herself that House had instigated proceedings, therefore absolving her of any responsibility for her actions. Legs heavy from exertion, she slowly walked back into the bedroom, finding him still sprawled across the bed, sheets tangled around his waist, good leg hanging over the side of the bed. The room stank of sex, the scent hanging around him triumphantly as he dozed quietly; the combination of cream bed-sheets and the early morning sunlight streaming through the window giving him the aura of a slightly scruffy broken angel. Cuddy sighed; who was she kidding? It took to people to tango, be it vertical or horizontal. She wandered off to the bathroom, desperate to wash the smell of sweat and sex from her skin before she attached any unnecessary meaning to it.

House stirred, propping himself up on his elbows. He could smell bacon. He flicked the sheet away, searching for his shorts, and was suddenly acutely aware of the need to shower, a thin crust of dried semen tugging at the hair across the top of his thighs as he moved. House cast an appraising eye over his cock, unsure as to what to think about the night's events. Why Cuddy? Frustration, need, payment for services rendered, rebound... All of the above? After a period of brief consideration, he abandoned the search for his underwear and limped off to the bathroom.

Sipping coffee in quiet contemplation as she watched a handful of bacon strips crackling in the pan, Cuddy heard the shower spring to life. Part of her had silently been hoping he would sleep in, sparing them both the unique brand of discomfort that came with the obligatory morning after conversation. Still grappling with the reality of having slept with a patient, Cuddy's thoughts turned to the event itself. It was good, definitely good, but regardless of what angle she viewed it from, something wasn't quite right. House's motivation troubled her, need had been a big part of it, maybe obligation? Perhaps he thought of it as 'paying the rent' or something. Regardless of why, there was something about his demeanour that troubled Cuddy. Despite the fact it hadn't really concerned her too much at the time, the fact that he essentially refused to let her touch him had retrospectively thrown her. It couldn't be about her, she'd spent a considerable amount of time touching him over the last few months, admittedly in a professional setting... Again the same nagging thought; he was a patient, her patient. Cuddy poked absently at the bacon; any sexual hang-ups he had in light of the infarction had to be Stacy related. She had to give it to him though, even on one leg, the man was good at his work. Cuddy heard the now familiar sound of a single footstep followed by soft shuffling behind her. She turned around, House shuffled closer, pushing her against the counter, his free hand settling comfortably on her hip. He studied her face, his own expression thoughtful. Cuddy looked up at him; even half-slumped over the single crutch that held him upright he was still an imposingly tall man. She placed a hand on his chest; he smelt like soap, her soap. House tilted her chin up with a single finger, lips meeting hers in a tentative kiss. Mind instantly slipping back a few hours in time, Cuddy wound her arms around his neck, opening her mouth against his greedily. His arm snaked around her, hand finding the hollow of her back as he responded. Cuddy's eyes flashed open as his tongue met hers; it was the Vicodin, sour and acrid, coating the inside of his mouth. She drank it in, tasting his reality in the cold light of day, and it took every ounce of her willpower not to gag and pull away.

Cuddy watched House as he carefully built his breakfast into a tidy bacon and egg sandwich, satisfied with the knowledge that she had managed to get him to eat two decent meals in the last three days. He was quiet though, too quiet. No snide remarks about table manners or living arrangements; no needling her for personal information or testing her pain threshold, just silence. Cuddy stared at him, still unsure what to think, unsure what she felt; between the guilt, the sex and her own over-riding sense of damaged professionalism she had no idea what she was doing. She checked her watch, 6.30. Cuddy stood, walked around the table and stood behind him, running her fingers through his hair. House gazed up at her; eyes clear for the first time in days but imbued with the most tragic sense of melancholy. She felt her heart breaking.

"Take it easy, okay?" Cuddy ached for him.

House nodded. Cuddy sighed, mentally steeling herself and left to collect her bag.

"Oh god, Greg." Cuddy mumbled to herself as she unlocked the pickup. "What has she done to you?"

House resumed his position in front of Cuddy's television with his box of Cheerios prepared for a solid day of channel surfing, but his heart wasn't in it; not even Cheech and Chong's 'Up in Smoke' could hold his attention. He switched the TV off. Gazing out the window, his mind flashed back to the previous night, vividly recalling the image of Cuddy moving above him; feeling her around him. House squeezed his eyes shut, lips disappearing inside his mouth and swallowed hard. It was the first time he'd been with anyone other than Stacy in five years. Stacy.

From the outset the sex had been explosive; every interaction characterised by the sort of extreme, passionate anger that saw them fucking anywhere and everywhere. Every emotion they were unable to verbalise they thrashed out in the bedroom, the scratches that adorned his torso the next morning a testimony to his ability. He was wild, controlling, uninhibited, and she fought him every step of the way. Within weeks of her moving in, he found himself getting hard whenever they argued; his mind skipping ahead in time to the hugely gratifying moment where he would hammer his point home in the most compelling manner, always ensuring she agreed, regardless of how long it took. After the infarction he found himself mentally deleting positions from his sexual repertory, in time he knew he'd regain his endurance, his leg would develop some mild degree of stability; but then there was Stacy. Consumed with guilt, she looked to atone for her actions on every level; driving him to his appointments, cooking every meal, and assuming every domestic role she had initially shirked from the moment they moved in together. At night she fucked him out of sheer guilt and pity, and he just lay there pretending it wasn't happening. Initially he pushed her away, but she always wanted to talk; eventually he reached the point where maintaining his state of silence was impossible, and he just lay back and let her do it, hating himself every time she sank down onto him. It was the ultimate insult; he couldn't fuck her the way he used to anymore, the fact that she insisted on doing it; screaming and moaning like some whacked-out porn star as she rode him only served to hammer the reality of his situation home. He had become a parody of his former self, now silent in anger and submissive where once he was shamelessly dominant and he hated it. More than anything he wanted to fuck her hard, so hard that she'd feel what he felt, the hollow, consuming pain of betrayal. However in reality it was impossible, and he hated it; hated her touching him, hated the fact that she assumed that she was entitled to some degree of intimacy in spite of what she had done to him; hated the fact that he had become an obligation, a chore, an object of pity.

Then there was Cuddy. He didn't really know what to think of last night, it was a strangely validating experience in a way. She came, he made sure of it; he had always taken pride in his ability in that department; but he was still essentially a spectator by his own standards, lying back watching as she did all the work. Not that he was complaining; Cuddy was a beautiful woman, watching her firm body and those perfect, full breasts in the moonlight as her body rolled against his was just… House felt a pleasant surge of feeling in his groin. Motivation was an issue though, Cuddy was keeping him here out of guilt; he just hoped it didn't extend into her bedroom. Still the whole situation presented him with more questions than answers, and he had a whole day to dwell on them.

"If I were you, I'd consider filing for divorce." House sighed, offering the bulge in his jeans some heartfelt advice.

Cuddy's day dragged; for some godforsaken reason every individual who strode through the clinic and into her office came equipped with the most mundane and ludicrous quibbles imaginable. Doctor Jeffries from ENT had stolen three staplers and a packet of copying paper from Cardiology. Half of the OBGYN department were boycotting clinic duty while they lobbied for additional funding to purchase a new couch for their staff lounge, and Psychiatry and Neurology were refusing to co-operate over the treatment of a patient and were intent on turning it into a political issue, members of either department appearing at twenty-minute intervals reciting 'he said-she said' scenarios. Cuddy grit her teeth head propped against her hand as pretended to listen. The added distraction of arriving home to the strangely detached man she seemed to have adopted consumed her thoughts. The Board Meeting was going to be hell.

House ate two pieces of dry toast for dinner and took a shower. An hour or so spent snooping through Cuddy's things had yielded a copy of the hospital's Annual Report for the previous financial year. In light of the fact he didn't have anything better to do, he settled down in bed with his box of Cheerios to read it. It was inexplicably dull; prepared by accountants for accountants but it served to give him an insight into the sort of operation Cuddy was running, and evidently running very well. In the three years she had been in charge, donations were up and losses were down; the woman ran a tight ship. House sighed, what he really wanted to look at was the fairly extensive looking packet of information she had been leafing through in preparation for her Board Meeting. He figured it would still be in her bag when she arrived home. The shrill chime of a telephone ring cut through his thoughts. House hauled himself off the bed and limped into the kitchen in time to hear the answering machine click on, smiling vaguely at Cuddy's typically business-like message.

"Hi, Lisa. It's Stacy here… I just rang to see whether Greg showed up for his appointment today. I can't get hold of him… I guess he's probably screening my calls or something. If you could give me a call back, I'm staying at my sister's 497-5683."

House stared at the machine; the urge to swat it off the counter with his crutch was almost overwhelming. He drew in a deep breath and hit the delete button before returning to bed.

Cuddy fell through the front door at a quarter to eleven. The meeting had dragged on for some three and a half hours, the lowlight being an extensive discussion covering the hospital's stationary provider at the end of General Business. According to the calculations of one Dr Jackson from Pathology, the hospital could save in excess of $500 a year by changing the brand of staples they purchased. Half an hour later Cuddy concluded that Jackson was not only painfully anally retentive, but also quite possibly insane, ensured it was minuted then promptly closed the meeting. On her way out of the hospital car park, she spotted Jackson and came screaming up behind him in House's ridiculous black pickup, bringing it to a screeching halt inches from him as he walked to his car; the older man almost falling over in shock. Cuddy howled with laughter, silently thanking House for having the sense to get a ridiculously dark window treatment on his truck. In that moment she understood why he bought it. Wandering through her lounge and down the passageway, she found House clad only in underwear sitting on her bed, back propped against the headboard, seemingly engrossed in the hospital's most recent Annual Report.

"You're not seriously reading that?" Cuddy dropped her bag onto the chair next to her dresser.

"How was the meeting?" House ignored her, dropping the report onto the nightstand.

"Don't ask." Cuddy growled, shrugging her jacket. "Are you eating Cheerios in my bed?"

"Come here." House patted the bed next to him.

Cuddy looked at him warily but complied nonetheless, kicking off her shoes and flopping onto the bed next to him. House cast his eyes along the length of her body; wild hair loosely held by a simple clasp, low-cut white blouse, navy-blue mid-length skirt and stockings; all concealing that wonderfully firm body. He smoothed his hand down her hip, settling his big palm against the bone simply because he liked how it fit in his hand. Cuddy watched him, finding the peculiar expression on his face bemusing, but resisting the urge to speak. House slowly began to undress her, having had plenty of time to think he had devised a plan. He was certain Cuddy would be expecting something, and ignoring her or denying the events of the previous evening would be showing her a lack of respect as a woman. House figured if he got her off and did his job well enough, there was a good chance that she'd happily go to sleep afterward, that way he wouldn't have to face the reality of having sex again for the time being. He didn't really know how or what she felt toward him, if anything at all; so with a bit of luck she'd be satisfied with one good orgasm and sleep, he could go back to reading the report and jerk off in the bathroom later if need be.

House threw Cuddy's stockings across the room in the same direction he had thrown her skirt, lightly trailing his fingertips up and down the outside of her thigh. He smiled; for a professional woman Cuddy had great taste in underwear, black silk and a subtle sprinkling of lace- practical and sexy. A pleasant change from what he was used to. House hummed quietly to himself, lightly tracing the pattern of the lace across her panties with a fingertip as he contemplated his next move.

"Can you try not to tear these ones?" Cuddy asked in her most diplomatic voice, shivering in anticipation as his fingers drifted below the lace. House nodded, slipping his fingers under the sides of her panties; she lifted her hips obligingly and they too joined the rest of her clothing on the floor. He paused in a moment of silent admiration, enjoying the shadows that played across her skin in the soft glow of the lamplight. Cuddy shifted nervously, her own uncertainty and his strangely silent demeanour leaving her feeling particularly naked. Suddenly House gripped her hips, shifting her so she lay across the bed before stretching out on his stomach until his head was nestled comfortably between her thighs. It had been a while since he'd done this, gently nibbling at her inner thighs, stubble tickling her skin as he went; but he liked what he saw and smelled. She was wet already. This was going to be a lot more enjoyable than he'd anticipated. House slid his tongue upward in a long, leisurely stroke, fighting a smile as Cuddy groaned audibly above him. It was too easy.

Cuddy shifted slightly against him, slowly relaxing into the casual, deft movement of his tongue against her flesh. Suddenly she understood every man she had ever dated who came home from work demanding a blowjob. Yes, he was a patient, but here in her bed he was giving her exactly what she needed. Who was she to fight it? House's tongue curled firmly around her in a teasing caress that defied description.

"Ohh… Greg…" Cuddy moaned, fingers tangling through his hair, holding him firmly in place as she felt her hips start to move involuntarily in time with his tongue. House smiled inwardly, the entire experience leaving him pleasantly hard; everything about it was good, her taste, her smell, her fingers massaging his scalp as he worked. House picked up the pace, eager to finish her off before the pressure of the mattress against his leg became uncomfortable.

Cuddy felt the pressure beginning to build deep between her thighs, mind instantly flashing back to the previous evening, specifically how full she had felt when she came with him inside her. House began to suckle sharply at her flesh. She groaned, writhing in his grasp, so close now. Cuddy wanted him, desperate to feel his thick, perfect cock plunging deep inside her.

"God… Greg, I want you inside me…" Cuddy pleaded, desperate to stave off the inevitable. House ignored her, tightening his grip around her thighs as he slowed right down, gently teasing her with the tip of his tongue.

"Dammit, Greg!" Cuddy growled. He offered no response, quietly continuing in the manner that he saw fit, dragging his tongue across her in a series of long teasing licks before slowly easing back into a steady rhythm. Cuddy's mind raced; he had just declined an invitation to climb on top and finish her off. It was killing her, she was literally aching, desperate to feel him inside her now.

"Please Greg…" Cuddy moaned. "I want you…" A deft flick of his tongue saw her sentence end prematurely with a throaty groan. This wasn't fair. Cuddy shifted beneath him, agitated in spite of the incessant throbbing between her thighs. What was his problem? First she couldn't touch him, and now he wouldn't fuck her? She wasn't here to provide some sort of psycho-sexual counselling service. If he wanted to work through his issues he could do it somewhere other than between her thighs. Cuddy's hands left his head, clawing furiously at the bed beneath her, twisting two fistfuls of the sheet into knots at her sides. She grit her teeth, determined not to come. House felt her shifting above him, relishing the fight. She was on his turf now, the harder she fought him, the more violently she'd come when she finally let go.

House hummed gently as he worked, the vibration reverberating through Cuddy as she desperately sought to stave off the inevitable, writhing in his grasp and twisting the sheets until they came loose at the corners of the bed. Painfully hard and shamelessly aroused at the mere suggestion of a fight House began to grind himself against the mattress, the pressure on his thigh serving to quash any lingering thoughts he may have had of climbing on top of her afterward. The reality of his situation was too much; House decided to finish things, lapping mercilessly at her screaming flesh.

"Ohh… Greg…" Cuddy groaned, eyes wide. She was dangerously close, but she wouldn't come. Not for him, not in this lifetime. A deep, throaty growl forced its way out from between her lips, muscles tightening as an all-consuming wave of pleasure swept down though her. She arched her back, eyes wide, hips bucking uncontrollably against his face. "Fuck me…" She gasped, the unbridled desperation in her voice wrapping itself snugly around his balls. House squeezed his eyes shut, slowing down as she rode it out. Oh god he wanted to, she had to know that. But he couldn't, not the way she needed him to.

Cuddy finally fell limp beneath him. House pushed himself up, shifting so that he sat with his back propped against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. He sighed heavily, reaching for the Annual Report that he had dropped on the nightstand.

"Greg?" Cuddy sat up, utterly puzzled. House was painfully hard, his thick, perfect cock bulging against the loose, white cotton of his shorts as he flipped open the report. He gazed over at her sadly as she glared at him, wild-eyed, hair dishevelled, her blouse hanging half open. Cuddy crawled over to him, snatching the report away and flinging it across the room. She didn't care anymore; she wanted him so much that something ached in the pit of her stomach. Desperate to feel him inside her, Cuddy straddled his lap. House looked away; delicious wet heat soaking through his shorts as she settled on top. God he wanted her; wanted to flip her onto her back and fuck her so hard and so deep that she'd feel him every time she moved for the next week and swear that she'd never had better. House gritted his teeth and cursed his reality, swallowing hard.

"Greg?" Cuddy craned her neck, twisting on his lap to try and meet his eyes. She grabbed his chin, straightening his head on his shoulders and studied his face. "This isn't about guilt or pity.

"I know, I know." He whispered, closing his eyes and fighting to turn his head away. Cuddy let go of his chin, hand shifting to cover her own mouth. He stared at the window, eyes glassy in the lamplight. She lightly traced the firm line of muscle down the side of his neck with her fingertips, leaning forward to kiss him lightly along the same path her fingers had taken. House placed his palm firmly in the centre of her chest; he couldn't do it. Cuddy sat back reluctantly. He slowly turned his head back to face her; the pain and hopelessness in his eyes tore at her.

"I just feel so fucking useless…" House whispered. He dropped his head, pressing his nose to his shoulder briefly before returning to meet her gaze. The muscles in his neck and jaw tightened. "I can't fuck you the way I want to."

"Greg.," Cuddy smoothed a hand through his hair; he inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth as a single silent tear rolled down his cheek. She took his hand, slipping it beneath her and between her thighs.

"Feel that?" She whispered, eyes scouring his face for something, anything. His fingers teased through fur, slipping inside her. House gazed at the ceiling, sadness and tormented frustration tearing across his features. She was so hot, so wet…

"That's all you, Greg." Cuddy whispered hoarsely. "You're not useless. I don't care how you do it… I just want you… Need you inside me." House met her gaze, finding her clear blue eyes dark with lust as he stared at her. For the first time he saw her; and she wasn't Stacy. There was no pity, no obligation; only need and feverish desperation. He swallowed hard, blinking away a handful of obstinant tears. House slipped a hand behind her head, sliding the clip from her hair; dark curls cascading wildly around her shoulders. He tangled a hand roughly through her hair, pulling her in toward him; kissing her hard as their lips met. Cuddy groaned desperately into his mouth, grinding her hips against him shamelessly as he deepened their kiss. Her mind swam, every sensation rippling down through her and pooling between her thighs, god she wanted him. House tore at her blouse, buttons popping as he dragged it off her shoulders and pushed it away, along with her bra, fingers splaying along her spine in its wake, pulling her to him, breasts smashed against his chest as they kissed.

The detached, calculated man of the night before was gone. House didn't care who she was or why she was there anymore; the simple fact was she was there. This beautiful, incredible woman; he wanted to kiss her, feel her, immerse himself in her just to feel something other than pain and forget himself for a few precious moments. His hands were everywhere, touch firm and desperate; Cuddy moved with him as they kissed, his thick silky tongue massaging hers, stubble rasping against her skin driving her to the point of total sensory overload. Cuddy tasted salt and had no idea whose tears were on her lips. She reluctantly broke away from him, delicately kissing her way down the length of his neck. She dragged her tongue along his collarbone, mouthing her way down his chest to gently bite a nipple. House's fingers tangled through her hair; this was good, he wanted this, groaning loudly as she traced the muscles in his stomach with her tongue. Cuddy's fingertips slid under the elastic of his shorts, teasing him as she lightly mouthed at the thick ridge of his cock through the thin, damp cotton that hid it from her view. She gazed up at him from between his thighs, suggestively biting at his groin. House bit his bottom lip, nodding. Cuddy shifted, slowly pulling his underwear down his thighs and over his calves. She moved back up gently blowing cool air over his throbbing cock, gazing up at him. House propped her chin up with a single finger; her eyes told him she'd return the favour with interest in a heartbeat, but as soon as soon she wrapped those gorgeous lips around him he'd be finished.

"Come here." House rasped, the pressure in his balls momentarily over-riding both common sense and the pain in his thigh. Cuddy gazed up at him, and in a simple act of acceptance placed a single kiss on top of the puckered skin at the midpoint of the angry scar that tore down his thigh. She shifted back up to his lap, catching his mouth in another fervent kiss; grinding against him as he struggled to comprehend what he'd just seen. House braced himself, back against the headboard; good leg propped up behind her gripping her hips firmly. He lifted her up off his lap; Cuddy broke their kiss, dropping a hand down beneath her to angle him up toward her. She sank down fractionally, heat coating his head as she shifted her hands to grip the headboard either side of his shoulders. House steadied himself, eyes locked on hers. He pulled her down onto him hard, lifting his hips off the bed at the same time, watching her eyes as he buried himself deeply inside her; that moment, the look of sheer exhilaration and desire that flooded her eyes were all his.

"Greg…" Cuddy moaned as she exhaled, never breaking eye contact. House grunted in satisfaction, pushing deeply into her again. He worked into a steady rhythm, Cuddy moving slowly, luxuriously in compliment; but it was all him as thrust up into her, nuzzling her tits as they rose and fell in front of him. And in that moment time stood still as he fucked her; slowly, gently; exactly how he wanted to. By some wonderful coincidence, they came together; House driving deeply into her as she clung to him desperately, teeth sinking into his shoulder when he took her over the edge with him.

They stayed like that, fused together for god knows how long until House broke the silence.

"You know," He mused, trailing his fingertips along the length of her spine as she lay slumped across his chest. "Every time you have sex from now on, you'll think of me."

Cuddy sat back and glared at him. He was probably right.

For the first time in a long time Cuddy slept through her alarm. House reached over her and snapped it off, downing his morning Vicodin in the process. She stirred without waking, snuggling into the space between his arm and his chest. House lightly dragged his fingers across her upper arm. It occurred to him at that moment that he needed to go through her bag. Everything was beginning to make sense. He slid out from underneath her with as much stealth as he was physically capable, wrapping a bed sheet around his waist before grabbing her bag and his crutch and limping into the kitchen. He dropped Cuddy's leather executive bag down onto the table and made a coffee before sitting down to read.

Cuddy staggered into the kitchen at 7.30 feeling pleasantly sore in a few places and thoroughly satisfied. She spotted House sitting at the table wearing his bed sheet, papers strewn everywhere, clearly engrossed in whatever it was that had caught his attention.

"Didn't know we were having a toga party." Cuddy slid her arms around his neck from behind, gently biting his earlobe.

"Keg's in the kitchen." He tilted his head to look at her, noticing her bathrobe. "You're overdressed." He shifted in his seat yanking at the tie that held it closed.

"Hey!" Cuddy spotted her bag on the table. "You're reading my notes from the board meeting?"

"Yep." House looked at her earnestly. "It's a good thing I'm here, I can solve all of your problems."

"What are you going to do?" Cuddy looked at him incredulously. "Have sex with everyone on the board?"

"Not all of them." House looked at her incredulously, "Well at least not all of them at once."

"Okay then genius." Cuddy sat down at the table across from him. "Solve all my problems."

"According to these figures, you've had 38 major diagnostic errors in the last six months." House began. "Including me."

"Not a statistic I'm proud of." Cuddy reached over, taking a sip of his coffee. "But continue."

"What you need is a specialist diagnostic department to take the pressure off the rest of the hospital." House continued. "It's a relatively new idea here, but it's fairly common in Europe."

"Interesting concept." Cuddy folded her arms across her chest. "And who exactly is going to run this diagnostic department?"

"Well, evidently no one in your hospital knows what they're doing," He watched her carefully, a strangely smug expression drifting across his face. "And I know an exceptional candidate who just happens to be on the market right now."

"So, I guess you can start on Monday then, Doctor House." Cuddy snapped at him, agitated. "You're not serious are you?"

'Why not?" House glared at her. "Diagnostics is my bag. I'm ideal."

"Why, because you slept with me?" Cuddy was less than impressed.

"No, but I can do it again if it'll help?" House raised an eyebrow at her suggestively.

"Oh god." Cuddy shook her head. "You're serious. I suppose you just think you can walk in and start on Monday?"

"I was thinking closer to Wednesday…" House began.

"Have you looked in a mirror at any stage this week?" Cuddy glared at him. "You're sick. If you walked into my office on Monday I'd hand you admission papers, not an employment contract."

"I'm fine." House glared at her. "I've just had a couple of bad days."

"Really." Cuddy retorted flatly. "So the whole turning up at the clinic partially drunk practically begging for drugs was just something I imagined?"

"Hey!" House snapped at her. "I'm dealing with a lot of shit right now."

"And you'll be dealing with it for the rest of your life." Cuddy leant forward, eyeballing him across the table. "You're a mess! You're barely mobile, a month behind in your physical therapy and you've been self medicating. Six months ago if I heard you were out of work I would have tracked you down on reputation alone and offered you a job, but I can't give you one now, you look worse than most of my patients."

"So I'll go back to physical therapy." House glared at her. "Or I could start drinking again, wipe myself out a few times…"

"You're one of my patients for crying out loud." Cuddy sought to exercise some common sense, running a hand through her hair in exasperation. "I can't just give you a job, it's unprofessional."

"You slept with a patient." House stated the obvious. "Twice actually. That's got to be the absolute pinnacle of unprofessionalism. Hang on, is that a word?" House paused. "I can spend the rest of my days sitting on your couch moping if you want, I'm assuming you'll keep feeding me if I put out?"

"This is ridiculous." Cuddy glared at him. "I'm not giving you a job out of guilt."

"This isn't about guilt." House snapped at her. "Your hospital has a problem, I'm offering a solution." House leaned forward, meeting her gaze. "Lisa I know who I am, and I know how my record reads. I've been fired four times, I'm a huge liability in a professional sense as well as a personal one, but I can do this… And if I pull it off, you're the one who gets all the credit."

Cuddy dropped her head down into her hands, massaging her temples. This was insane; she needed time.

"Okay, I'll give you one month." Cuddy began, her voice measured. "You get your life together, go back to physical therapy and walk into my office looking like a doctor and not a patient, with a fully-costed proposal for your Diagnostic Department and we'll talk." She glared at him. "I can't guarantee anything though, it has to be approved by the hospital board, and you'll need Certification in Diagnostics if you're going to run this thing. If they hear about this though…" Cuddy trailed off, waving her hand at him. "You don't have a chance in hell."

"Okay." House glared at her. "I'm taking all of your budget and staffing reports, and you're taking me home."

"What?" Cuddy sat up, entirely unprepared for this moment.

"You heard, take me home."


End file.
